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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971456">Atlas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoose/pseuds/homoose'>homoose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:41:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoose/pseuds/homoose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times that Spencer needed support, and one time he gave it. Lightly inspired by the song Atlas by The Dip.</p>
<p>Warnings/Includes: brief mentions of general anxiety/trauma/mild depression</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spencer Reid &amp; Reader, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Atlas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spencer pressed his fingers so far into the sockets of his eyes that Y/N thought he might actually jam one of his eyeballs into his brain. He was hunched over his desk, reading through the file of the case he was consulting on. Even on his mandatory 30-day leave, Spencer couldn’t fully tear himself away from hunting monsters.</p>
<p>Y/N moved from where she had been leaning against the doorframe, walking further into Spencer’s office. “Another headache?” She sighed, wrapping her arms around Spencer’s shoulders and pressing her warm cheek to his temple.</p>
<p>Spencer hummed. “Just need another cup of coffee.”</p>
<p>“Honey, you’ve been awake for almost three days,” Y/N sighed. “What you need is a gallon of water and 12 hours sleep.”</p>
<p>He leaned back further into the circle of Y/N’s arms and covered her hands with his own. “I can’t—the team needs this consult before they leave on Monday.”</p>
<p>“And just how long have you been reading this page?” Y/N questioned. When Spencer didn’t respond, she continued, “Mmhm, that’s what I thought. When it takes Dr. Reid two minutes to finish a page, something’s up.” She patted his chest. “Even the biggest brain needs a break.”</p>
<p>“Actually, there’s very little evidence that brain size has any correlation with measured levels of intell—” Spencer started.</p>
<p>“So you’ve mentioned,” Y/N chuckled. “My point still stands. I’m gonna make you a cup of tea and a snack, and then we’re gonna take a nap.” She kissed the top of his head before releasing her hold on him and moving to the kitchen.</p>
<p>Y/N filled the kettle and placed it on the stove before scrolling to find the playlist she had curated for days like this. The melancholic sounds of the Moonlight Sonata came through the bluetooth speaker as she pulled a wooden cutting board from the cupboard. Y/N dug through the bag from her earlier grocery run. She began placing the crackers, dried fruit, nuts, and cheeses on the board, taking time to arrange each piece just so. When she was satisfied with her work, Y/N turned to reach up on her tiptoes into the cupboard for her secret weapon. With a small smile, she placed it in the very center of the board. The kettle had barely begun its whistle when Y/N snatched it from the stove, cringing with a glance toward the door of Spencer’s office. She pulled his best-loved mug from the dish rack and dropped a fresh tea bag into it, covering it with the steaming water.</p>
<p>As the tea steeped, Y/N moved to the living room, crossing her arms as she contemplated the space. Although it was much darker than Y/N’s own living space, it was still far too bright to be comfortable for Spencer’s light sensitivity. Y/N made a mental note to find a suitable set of blackout curtains before retrieving a blanket from inside the trunk-style coffee table. She carried one of the kitchen chairs over to the window, quietly setting it underneath the curtain rod. Stepping up on the seat of the chair, she tossed the blanket up, trying to layer it up over the curtain. It took a few tries, but Y/N got it up and over the rod, adjusting it to block as much of the light as possible. She hopped off the chair, landing on the floor with a quiet thud.</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to do all this.” Spencer stood outside his office, hands in his pockets and honey colored eyes settled on Y/N’s face as she turned to him.</p>
<p>“I know.” Y/N padded across the hardwood. She grabbed Spencer’s hand and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. She shrugged, pulling him into the kitchen. “I don’t mind. I like taking care of you.” When they reached the table, she popped an almond into her mouth with a grin.</p>
<p>Spencer’s eyes moved over the cutting board, lips turning up in a small smile—the first one Y/N had seen in days—when they landed on the Jell-O cup. He picked it up and peeled back the lid. Y/N held up her mug of tea. Spencer let out a laugh and tapped it with his Jell-O. “Cheers.”</p>
<p>When the board held only crumbs and the mugs were empty, Y/N stood from the table and pulled Spencer to his feet. “Come on, nap time.”</p>
<p>“Y/N, I appreciate the thought, but I really have to finish—”</p>
<p>“Nope, sorry, that’s not part of the deal.” She gently pushed him toward the couch. At Spencer’s resistance, Y/N huffed out a breath. “Spence, you need a break. I’m not even asking you to go to bed. Just lay on the couch.” She lifted a hand to cradle Spencer’s face. “Unlike the brain size thing, there is actual research that says your brain doesn’t function properly when you’re tired. And you, my love, are t-i-r-e-d.”</p>
<p>Spencer allowed himself to be lowered onto the brown leather couch, rubbing at his eyes. “Just twenty minutes.”</p>
<p>“Mhmm.” Y/N reclined next to him on the couch, grabbing the throw blanket draped over the back. “I’ll set the alarm.” She held out her arms. “C’mere.”</p>
<p>Despite himself, Spencer didn’t hesitate, winding his arms around Y/N’s middle and laying his head on her shoulder. She tucked the blanket around the both of them and wound their legs together.</p>
<p>“The alarm’s set?” Spencer mumbled, already falling under the spell of sleep.</p>
<p>Y/N pushed her fingers through his hair and scratched lightly at his scalp, smiling when he hummed happily and burrowed his face into her chest. “Setting it now,” she assured. Maybe she set it a little longer than 20 minutes, but Spencer didn’t need to know that.</p>
<p>⧭⧭⧭</p>
<p>Y/N rolled over toward the nightstand and reached out, clumsily running her hand across the smooth table to grab the ringing phone. When her fingers wrapped around the device, she pulled it towards her only to have it jerk abruptly out of her hand when the charging cord reached its limit. “Shit,” Y/N muttered as it clattered to the floor. She emerged from under the duvet, leaning off the side of the bed and dragging her hand blindly across the floor. Finally, clutching the phone in one hand and pushing herself back into bed with the other, Y/N swiped to answer the call. “H‘lo?”</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>At the sound of Spencer’s voice, Y/N was suddenly wide-awake. “Spence? Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just—um. I know it’s late, sorry. Are you—? I just—God, you have to work in the morning, I’m sorry. I can—it can wait.”</p>
<p>Y/N paused a moment to make sure he was finished before asking, “Do you need me to come to you, or are you coming here?”</p>
<p>Spencer let out a sigh of relief. “I can—I’ll come to you.”</p>
<p>After thirty minutes of groggy pacing, Y/N opened the door to Spencer, hair frizzy and clothes rumpled from a long flight. She stepped back, allowing him into the apartment and then closing the door behind him. Spencer dropped his go-bag on the floor and ran a hand over his face as Y/N turned the deadbolt and secured the chain. She had barely turned around before he was latching onto her, completely enervated. He burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, and Y/N wrapped her arms tightly around him.</p>
<p>Y/N shifted her weight slowly back and forth, moving the two of them in a gentle swaying motion. She rubbed a hand up and down Spencer’s back, soothing and rhythmic. Spencer let out a shaky breath, and Y/N felt the collar of her shirt becoming damp. She brought a hand up to Spencer’s head, stroking his hair and repeating a familiar mantra: “You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe. I’m right here.”</p>
<p>Y/N lost track of how long they stood there, swaying and soothing and shattering. Maybe minutes or maybe hours later, Spencer pulled back, head lowered and swiping his arm underneath his nose. Y/N reached out to grasp his face in both her hands, lifting it and sweeping her thumbs under his eyes. When Spencer finally looked at her, Y/N saw the golden irises were shining and ringed with red. “I love you.”</p>
<p>“I love you. So much.” Spencer circled Y/N’s wrists in his hands. “So much.”</p>
<p>She pressed one, two, three chaste kisses to his chapped lips. She dropped one kiss onto the tip of his nose, drawing out a hesitant smile. “Wanna talk about it?”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “No.” Y/N pursed their lips, and Spencer sighed. “I—I will talk to someone, I promise. But I just—I don’t want it <em>in here</em>. In our space.” Y/N wound her fingers through Spencer’s, pulled his arms down, and tugged him closer. “Honestly, I just want to sleep with you,” Spencer admitted. Y/N wiggled her eyebrows and Spencer laughed. “You know what I mean.”</p>
<p>Y/N tried to pull a pout but just ended up smiling. “Fine. Come on, spoilsport. Let’s go to bed.”</p>
<p>⧭⧭⧭</p>
<p>“It was just… not a good day for her.” Spencer leaned back on the couch and scrubbed his hands over his face.</p>
<p>Y/N sat next to him on the couch. She couldn’t find the right words. “I’m so sorry, Spence.”</p>
<p>“Pragmatically, I know that there’s nothing more I could be doing. She made it clear what she wants, and I can’t force her to take medications or try new treatments.” He looked down at his hands, fingers tracing the lines of his palms. “But some days I—I just can’t… reconcile that this is what her life is now. Just… remembering less and less every day. Being confused and agitated all the time. I mean, <em>all</em> the time.” He paused and drew his lips into a thin line. “Not knowing who I am. That happens much more frequently than it used to.”</p>
<p>Y/N reclined back next to him on the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table and pressing her shoulder to Spencer’s. “Even if she doesn’t always remember, you do. And if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you are irritatingly persistent,” she joked. “You won’t ever stop trying to remind her. And that’s the best thing you can do for her.”</p>
<p>Spencer nodded, dropping his head onto Y/N’s shoulder. She tilted her head, an idea flitting across the front of her mind. “Hey, here’s a thought. You know that scrapbook your mom made? Every page is a story from her life. But she stopped around the time you were like, ten, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. There’s… not much in there after that.”</p>
<p>“Ok so, what if you picked up where she left off? You have so many great stories and memories with her. You could put some of your journals and articles in there, too. Pictures of you and the team. That one of you and Ethan in New Orleans. Ones with Henry and Michael. Maybe one of you in the lecture hall.” Y/N sat up. “Writing her letters is great, you should keep doing that for sure. But did you know that visual aids—like, particularly photographs—can help stimulate memory recall in Alzheimer’s patients at any stage?”</p>
<p>Spencer smiled. “I actually did know that.”</p>
<p>“Ugh of course you did. Couldn’t just let me have this one thing.” Y/N rolled her eyes, though Spencer caught the hint of a grin underneath the feigned annoyance. “Seriously, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I have a ton of scrapbooking stuff,” Y/N said, scrambling up from the couch and into her bedroom.  </p>
<p>“You do?” Spencer furrowed his brow. “I’ve never seen you scrapbook.”</p>
<p>“Eh, yeah, it was a phase,” she called from the bedroom. “Scrapbooking paper’s expensive as fuck, so it was a short-lived hobby.”</p>
<p>Spencer chuckled, listening to the sounds of Y/N rummaging through the bedroom closet. There was a muffled thud. “Everything okay in there?”</p>
<p>There were a couple more bumps and bangs, and then, “Ah yeah, here we go.” Emerging from the bedroom, Y/N wheeled a huge black roller bag over to the couch. She unzipped the top pocket and Spencer peered inside. “Oh so you meant, quite literally, a <em>ton</em>of scrapbooking stuff.”</p>
<p>“Look, my ADHD goes all out when it comes to starting new projects.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “It’s the, you know, <em>finishing</em>projects that we struggle with.”</p>
<p>The pair went about die cutting, arranging, gluing, and giggling. Y/N scoured the depths of the internet (namely Penelope’s Facebook page) for photographs of Spencer—in costume at the BAU Halloween party, in his tuxedo at JJ and Will’s wedding, a selfie with Penelope at a Dr. Who convention, a candid of him doing magic for Jack and Henry, and even one of him singing karaoke.</p>
<p>Spencer worked on laying out the pages, gluing down frames and choosing decals that reminded him of his mother. He wrote a short synopsis on each page, summarizing his degrees, his work, and his friends. By the end of the afternoon, they had more than a dozen pages for the new book.</p>
<p>“I need one more picture,” Spencer said.</p>
<p>“I thought I got one of everyone? Or is there another karaoke picture that I don’t know about?” Y/N gawked over the top of the laptop from her spot on the couch. She was never going to let him live that down.</p>
<p>Spencer laughed. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s the only photographic evidence of that night.” He turned and smiled up at Y/N from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scraps of paper and the remnants of sticker packs. “I need that one of us at the Cherry Blossom festival.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Well, um.” A blush crept up Y/N’s cheeks. “Coming right up.” She sent the photo to the printer, standing to retrieve it from her desk.</p>
<p>It was quiet in the room apart from the sounds of the printer, rhythmically whirring and inking the memory into life. Y/N absentmindedly chewed the inside of her lip, waiting for the final strokes of the photo to be laid. She turned back, photo in hand, to see Spencer smiling at her, soft and warm.</p>
<p>Over the course of the afternoon, he had swapped his shoes for a pair of fuzzy socks, and his contacts for his glasses. Y/N’s heart actually ached at the length of his sweater sleeves, covering all but the tips of his fingers. The picture of domesticity, Spencer patted the floor next to him. When Y/N sat, he took the photo from her hand, meticulously adding glue dots to each corner before pressing it down onto the page. He lifted his arm, tucking Y/N underneath and pulling her close. “Thank you. For all of this.”</p>
<p>“You’re very welcome.” Y/N snuggled a little deeper into his embrace. “All right so let’s see this masterpiece.”</p>
<p>When they arrived at the last page, Y/N was still incredulous over the details of the karaoke story. “Okay, but there has to be a video somewhere.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sure there is. And you will never, ever see it.”</p>
<p>“Penelope Garcia is a tech wizard, and she is not above a bribe,” Y/N warned.</p>
<p>“What a coincidence, because I am also not above a bribe. Especially if it keeps that video from ever seeing the light of day.” Spencer laughed and squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “I think this page is my favorite.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Y/N and I at the Cherry Blossom festival. Y/N is kind, thoughtful, and passionate. She never fails to make me laugh. She’s always up for cloud watching with me, although she prefers altocumulus formations to the cumuliform heaps. We read together almost every night. You both love King Arthur and the Legends of the Round Table, particularly Tristan and Iseult. I could write a million more words about her and it wouldn’t be enough. When I was little, you told me that love is a world of its own that lives in the heart, not in the head. I know exactly what you mean. </em>
</p>
<p>⧭⧭⧭</p>
<p>Y/N tossed under the duvet, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to find a comfortable position. She had been sleeping for so long that her lower back was aching, the type of pain that twinges like the ticking of a clock, steady and incessant. She rolled over onto her stomach, stretching her whole body and reaching to turn the alarm clock toward her—3:27pm. She huffed, burying her head in the pillow with a loud groan. She had called out of work to have a productive day at home, and instead she slept the day away.</p>
<p>Y/N threw the duvet off and sat up. She tried not to let the guilt of calling out creep in. Instead, she shuffled into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. She resolved that small victories might be all she was capable of today.</p>
<p>She pulled her favorite sweater from the hook on her bedroom door, wrapping it tightly around her as she stepped over the threshold into the living and dining space. This is why she had stayed in bed so long. Y/N had been spending so much time at Spencer’s that she had been able to ignore the declining Depression Room™ facing her now.</p>
<p>Three days’ worth of dishes were piled in the sink. There was a stack of unopened mail about a mile high on the kitchen island. The trash and recycling needed emptying about a week ago. Jackets and shoes were strewn about the place—over chairs, the back of the couch, all over the floor. The coffee table was littered with granola bar wrappers, an old McDonald’s bag, empty gatorade bottles, and the dirty containers from last night’s takeout. Her desk was overrun with unfinished lesson plans, professional development books that needed reading, and spelling tests that needed grading.</p>
<p>Y/N knew she would feel better once she started, but she also knew it would take her all day to get the apartment looking even halfway decent. Since she had spent so long in bed, she had even less time to get it done. She was failing to fend off the guilt of calling out, particularly since she hadn’t actually gotten any work done. Compounding her guilt was the fact that Spencer’s apartment was always so clean and cozy. His job was a thousand times more demanding than hers. His life had more trauma and daily stressors than she could even imagine. And still, Y/N was struggling with basic adult tasks. She couldn’t understand it.</p>
<p>
  <em>Just hang the jackets up. Throw away the junk mail. Wash the pots and pans first, then the plates and silverware. It will take four minutes to take the trash out. Spelling tests need to be in the grade book before the end of the marking period.</em>
</p>
<p>The door buzzer sounded and Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin. Running a hand through her hair and cringing at the greasiness, she crossed to the intercom and pushed the button to talk.</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Spencer’s chipper voice crackled through the speaker. “I tried calling you but couldn’t get through.”</p>
<p>Y/N was immediately torn between relief and panic. She was desperately in need of a hug and his company, but she was also mortified imagining what Spencer would think about the state of her apartment, the state of her life. “Y/N?” His voice broke through her musing.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sorry!” She tried to school her voice into something resembling normalcy. “Sorry, I—my phone died and I just— well, yeah.”</p>
<p>There was a pause, and then a tentative, “Can you buzz me in?”</p>
<p>“Oh, um.” Y/N turned and surveyed the apartment. There was nothing to be done. If she said no, Spencer would know for sure that something was wrong. “Sure, yeah yeah, hang on. Just—just a minute.”</p>
<p>Y/N moved quickly around the space and gathered the jackets and shoes into her arms. She fumbled with the door handle of the coat closet, tossing them in haphazardly and closing the door. There was no time to do much of anything else. She jogged back to the intercom, pressing the <em>door</em> button and then roping her hair up into a bun, hoping she could mask how dirty it was. She could hear Spencer coming up the squeaky stairs and felt her eyes start to water. She tilted her head back to keep the tears at bay.</p>
<p>Even Spencer’s knocking sounded happy. And of course that only made Y/N feel worse. She plastered on her best smile and opened the door. “Hi.”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Spencer stepped past Y/N, kissing her cheek and dropping his bag as he entered the apartment. “We had a paperwork day, and I write reports about as fast as I read, so I’m always done early. How was your day?”</p>
<p>“Um, you know, it was ok.”</p>
<p>Spencer’s eyes tracked over her face. “Did something happen?”  </p>
<p>“No, no, I just wasn’t feeling great this morning. I called in, just hung around here.”</p>
<p>“You could have called me.” Spencer stepped closer. “How are you feeling now? What were your symptoms?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine. I was just, um—just really exhausted.”</p>
<p>Spencer studied her face a moment. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“Hmm? Nothing. Nothing, I’m fine.” Y/N cursed her wavering voice for betraying her emotions.</p>
<p>“Y/N, you have never once, in all the time I’ve known you, failed to answer your phone. I almost thought you were going to tell me to go away before you buzzed me up.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Did I— Did I do something to make you upset?”</p>
<p>Y/N closed her eyes, feeling more awful by the minute. Of course Spencer would worry it was his fault. “No, no, Spence, not at all. I just—um.” The genuine concern on Spencer’s face was enough to have it all spilling out. “I get like this sometimes. I can’t focus on anything or don’t feel motivated or whatever, so I put things off, and then they build up until there’s so much to do that I don’t know where to start, so then I don’t start anything, and then I feel bad about being lazy and not getting things done, and I get so overwhelmed that all I can do is sleep for like, fourteen hours like I did today, and then the whole day is gone and I still haven’t accomplished anything I was supposed to—”</p>
<p>“Whoa, whoa, c’mere.” Y/N hadn’t even realized she was crying until Spencer pulled her into him. He locked his arms around her back so tight it almost hurt. She was vaguely aware of the volume of her sobs, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be embarrassed. It was a completely visceral moment of release, one that she might never have permitted herself without Spencer’s prompting. Now that the floodgates were open, there was no stopping the rush of everything she had allowed to build up. She spent so much of her life being the one who helped, always listening, supporting, and comforting the people around her. She was good at it, and she liked being someone that others could count on whenever they needed her. She just didn’t know how to listen to, support, and comfort herself.</p>
<p>Eventually, her mind and body began to slow down, plunging from the emotional high. When Spencer felt her breathing return to that consistent rhythm, he loosened his grip around her. He left one arm firmly around her waist and used his other hand to rub circles on her back.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Y/N mumbled into his chest. “This is so stupid. Compared to the stuff you see every day—”</p>
<p>“No— no.” Spencer pulled back to force her eyes up. “Don’t do that. Just because horrible things happen to other people doesn’t mean that what you’re going through isn’t hard. Y/N, do you hear me? Don’t diminish your own pain because you think someone else has it worse.” He cupped her chin gently in his hand. “What can I do to help you right now?”</p>
<p>“You already have helped,” Y/N sniffed. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”  </p>
<p>“Y/N… you’re not fine. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It—it’s okay to not be fine. But seeing you in pain hurts me, too. And I need to be able to do something about it.” He cradled her face in both hands. “You help me all the time. Please, let me do this for you. Let me be here for you.” After a moment, Y/N nodded and that was approval enough for Spencer. “What did you eat today?  </p>
<p>“I um, I didn’t yet.” She sniffed. “I slept pretty late.”  </p>
<p>“Okay, well it’s after 4:00pm. We’ve got to eat something.” Spencer ran his hands down Y/N’s arms. “I’d cook for you, but we already know how that story usually ends. How about takeout from the Indian place? They’re usually pretty quick.”</p>
<p>Y/N nodded again. “I need to take a shower, too.”</p>
<p>Spencer kissed her forehead. “You hop in the shower, and I’ll call in the order. It’ll be here by the time you’re done.”</p>
<p>When Y/N emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and skin smelling like lavender, the familiar aroma of curry and tandoori was drifting through the apartment. The coffee table was cleared and the kitchen table set with the takeout boxes and mugs of tea. The trash and recycling were freshly emptied. Spencer stood over the sink finishing up the last few dishes, the pots and pans already laid out to dry.  He was quietly singing along to a familiar song—one of their favorites. His voice was sweet and soft and slightly off-key, and her heart panged in the best way as he sang:</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t put the world on your shoulders ‘cause you know it ain’t your load to bear alone.</em>
</p>
<p>Y/N waited until the final notes of the song faded out, padding quietly across the kitchen floor. “You didn’t have to do all this,” Y/N said, wrapping her arms around his middle.</p>
<p>Spencer dried his hands before turning in her embrace. “I don’t mind. I like taking care of you. And I learned from the best.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and spoke against her skin. “You can even have the last Jell-o.”</p>
<p>Y/N smiled, quick and genuine. There were moments when life crashed over her, relentless waves breaking her down into grains of sand. And in those moments, this man forever grounded her to the truth—that she was treasured and deserving and whole— all of her, just as she was.</p>
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